Young Hawk
by CaptainOzone
Summary: Two-shot sequel to Oathbreaker. During a breakfast in which Hunith meets the Knights, humorous anecdotes are shared, and the full story of Merlin's birth is revealed. Beautiful cover image by ErinNovelist.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: Hello! This is the sequel, you can say, to Oathbreaker. I was convinced to do the breakfast by several people, and after some help with some brainstorming, I got the inspiration. I was going to put it as a third chapter in Oathbreaker, but this took a mind of its own, so now I'm posting it as a separate story. This WILL be a two-shot. :) The more angsty stuff is in this chapter, and there is A LOT more Merlin-Hunith bonding than bromance. My attempts at a few of the humorous tales will be the next chapter.

Enjoy!

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><p>"He did say that the Princess Elena was to visit soon, didn't he?" Lancelot mused to the silent room.<p>

"Wait," Gwaine said, his voice muffled into his arm. He hadn't bothered to pick up his head from the table, "Was that the obnoxious one that's still under a love spell? Or the unkempt one that was possessed by a blue fairy?"

"Sidhe," Lancelot corrected.

"Bless you."

Gwen rolled her eyes at her hung-over friend. "The latter, Gwaine," she answered, remembering Elena with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a certain admiration for her poise and gracious nature. The other woman…she did not remember too fondly. "The other was Lady Vivian."

"Oh, that's right," Gwaine agreed, turning his head, revealing his blurry eyes, and sprawling out further on the table. "Wasn't Elena clumsier than Merlin?"

Leon smirked and said off-handedly, "While the fairy was in her, yes." His brow furrowed suddenly. "No, Lancelot. It can't be her. Princess Elena isn't meant to visit for another week or so."

"Besides," Elyan pointed out, "Arthur specifically said that formal wear was unnecessary. If it _was_ her, we'd be in our cloaks and 'mail."

Looking surprised by Elyan's sensible comment, a panicked Lancelot looked down at himself as though he had forgotten what he had pulled on that morning. "Right," he said in embarrassment, rubbing his eyes; he did have late patrol the past two nights, after all.

"Well, who the hell else could it be?" Gwaine growled grumpily.

"That's the question, isn't it?" Percival mused, frowning at his protesting stomach and grimacing at the jabs and rumbles.

It was extraordinarily late when they heard knocks at their door. Whether it was at the tavern or at their homes in their night-clothes, drunk or sober, sleepy and grumpy or awake and cheerful, they had all opened their doors to messengers, and they had received invitations to have the morning meal together to welcome and celebrate a visitor.

_A visitor. _They were given no name, no clue as to who it was. Just "a visitor." Albeit confused, they all accepted (Gwaine rather reluctantly so) and came to the council chambers at the appropriate time.

They had been waiting with anticipation, healthy appetites, and boredom for a solid fifteen minutes, and they passed the time by trying to guess who the mystery visitor might be.

"And where the hell is our most royal Highness and Merlin?" Gwaine asked sarcastically.

"Arthur's probably dragging Merlin out of bed again," Percival said, laughing.

"It may just as well be the opposite," Gwen added jokingly, knowing well of Merlin's less-than-gentle waking methods and Arthur's irritability to being awoken in such a manner. If you passed through that particular corridor at the right time in the mornings, it wasn't uncommon to hear Arthur yelling at Merlin, the following clank of an empty goblet being thrown, and the humorous bite of Merlin's sarcasm. In fact, some walked that way just to get a good laugh in before the beginning of a busy, stressful day.

"Either way, we shouldn't have to wait for them to start eating!" Gwaine protested; he was convinced he was just as, if not more, hungry than Percival (which is a feat within itself). "Is it so hard for him to not foresee this and take it upon himself to think that—oh, I don't know—after asking us to get out of bed so early for some damn mysterious stranger, it might have been nice to have the cooks leave us a little something to nibble on while we wait?"

"Testy, are we?" Leon asked sarcastically.

Gwaine raised his head from the table slowly; his face might have been deceptively calm, but his eyes danced with rebellious, defensive fire. He opened his mouth furiously, clearly about to retort with a witty insult, but instead, he belched obnoxiously, causing all of them, who had been riled to fight and bicker, to leap up in surprise at its volume, give Gwaine an utterly awed look, and burst into hysterics. Gwaine sat back, looking pleased with himself.

Gwen made an unladylike noise of disapproval and flinched away violently. The men only laughed harder at her reaction. "You are all barbarians," Gwen announced disgustedly, appalled by their behavior. "How people mistake you for noble gentlemen is beyond me."

"Aw, c'mon, Gwen!" Gwaine said with a wide cheerful smile, his bad mood suddenly dissipating without a trace. _About as fickle as the weather, _Gwen commented to herself wryly. "You know you love us."

Despite herself, Gwen found herself smiling back. Nevertheless, she said sharply, "And you better know that I'd _love_ for you to not scare away whoever's breakfasting with us! Arthur obviously respects and cares enough for—"

The doors were suddenly thrown open, cutting Gwen off, and Arthur and Gaius strode in. Stumbling behind them, as always, was Merlin, whose hair was still sleep-tousled and whose sunny grin immediately filled Gwen up with warmth, and next to him…

"Merlin, mate!" Gwaine shouted excitedly, leaping up. "You never told me you had a sister!"

Eyes prickling with happy tears, Gwen choked out a watery laugh as Merlin, who quirked an eyebrow and frowned with severe confusion, looked back at the fourth member of their party bewilderedly. The mother raised her eyebrows at her son, trying to hide a smile of amusement.

"I assume that's Gwaine?" Gwen heard her say in an undertone to Merlin and Arthur. Gwen couldn't stop a giggle from escaping her—they obviously prepared her.

"Got it in one," Arthur mumbled.

She looked just as Gwen remembered her. Her clear blue eyes—eyes that may have had a different shade than her son's but held the same soft texture of compassion, sense of humor, and astute intelligence—her tender smile, her gentle gestures and voice…

Memories flooded back to Gwen of the woman's bravery and fighting spirit, her caring heart and generosity. She remembered meeting her with curiosity—Merlin had just simply… entered her life, and he became a friend so effortlessly, without so much as a thought. He never spoke about his past, so she couldn't _help_ but feel curious about the woman who raised him just as much as she couldn't help but love her.

Gwen rushed over and enveloped the woman with an embrace, exclaiming, "Oh, Hunith; it's really great to see you again!"

Merlin's mother beamed. "Hullo, Gwen." She pulled away and surveyed the younger woman. "It has been too long, hasn't it? I believe the last time I saw you I was bedridden with a strange illness and delirious," she said happily. Gwen winced at the memory, but she smiled at Hunith's happy, care-free tone despite the darkness of the situation she had been in. It resembled her happy-go-lucky son's so much that it was actually kind of unnerving.

Behind her, Merlin's jaw grew tense. Gaius and Arthur both gave him a concerned look, but it went unnoticed by him as Gwaine sauntered over, followed by the rest of the curious Knights.

"Hunith?" Gwaine asked, frowning. "Isn't that your mother's name, Merlin?"

Arthur covered a snort ungracefully with a cough, and Gwen saw a familiar gleam and teasing light filter into Merlin's eye. He grabbed Hunith's hand and pulled her to his side, a merciless grin on his face. "Yeah, Gwaine. This_ is_ my mother."

Gwaine's face went red as the Knights and Gwen burst out laughing. "I never thought I'd see the day that Gwaine could be described as _bashful_," Merlin teased.

Gwaine shot him a look, and said to Hunith, "My mistake. You look extremely alike."

"Cannot deny that," Leon admitted. "It is a pleasure, ma'am. I'm Leon." The rest of the Knights echoed his greeting and introduced themselves, their eyes intensely curious as the small woman in front of them smiled in recognition of each name.

Hunith brushed away a trailing lock of dark hair that had fallen from her color-washed bandana and smiled. "Call me Hunith, Leon. Ma'am makes me feel…"

"Old?" Merlin offered cheerily.

She shoved him playfully. "More… _impersonal_," she corrected.

Hunith shrugged. "I've heard a lot about all of you, and I should say thank you. For keeping Merlin safe."

The Knights exchanged a look. "I think it was more the other way around," Lancelot said proudly.

"He might've been watching out for us all, but someone had to watch over _him_," Gaius mumbled. Merlin scowled.

"Selfless idiot," Arthur muttered in agreement, cuffing Merlin lightly around the ear.

"Hey! I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

"I beg to differ," Arthur shot back. "You're always managing to land yourself in trouble!"

To the amusement of the Knights, Hunith tilted her head slightly and raised her brows once, a gesture of complete agreement. Gwen's curiosity leapt. Now that they knew about Merlin's magic…who knows what stories Hunith had to share?

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"Gaius is right. That's only because _we_'re there to make sure you don't do anything stupid and get yourself killed!"

"C'mon, you lot," Gwen interrupted, ushering them over to the table and breaking Arthur and Merlin apart before they could go off on each other. "Why don't we all get comfortable? I'll send for the food."

They all did as they were told, and soon she rejoined them, saying that the food would be there soon.

"So, why the late start, Arthur? Merlin?" Percival asked, eyes dancing. "Who had to shag who out of bed this time?"

Gaius and Hunith exchanged amused looks as both Arthur and Merlin shut up and avoided each other's eyes.

"Actually, _I _had to wake both of them," Hunith said. "Those two fell asleep on each other last night in Gaius's chambers."

"Mum!" Merlin complained over the raucous laughter of the Knights, his ears burning. Arthur gave Gwen, who was giggling uncontrollably, a sheepish look.

She gave her son an evil grin. "It was rather cute," she admitted.

"_Cute_?" Arthur asked in disbelief, wrinkling his nose. "He was _drooling _on me!"

"I don't drool," Merlin denied.

"Look who's_ bashful_ now!" Gwaine mocked, wiping tears off his face.

"I'm sure I'm going to be more than bashful by the time this is over," Merlin groaned. Arthur suddenly brightened, his sapphire eyes shining with eagerness. Turning to Hunith, he accused, "You're planning my murder by mortification. You aren't going to be merciful to your only son, are you?"

"Nope," Hunith said brightly. "I've waited far too long for an opportunity like this."

"For what?" Elyan said, not following.

Hunith's face was by all means innocent, but her smile and eyes hinted at something a lot less than innocence. "Story-time," she said.

"That's rather frightening," Arthur said. "You and Merlin _really_ look alike when you smile diabolically like that."

"Diabolically?" Merlin repeated to himself rhetorically.

Gwaine laughed, settling back further into his chair. "This is going to be brilliant."

The mother waved her hand offhandedly. "But there's time for that later. I've heard a lot about you from Merlin, obviously, but I want to hear from you. Tell me about yourselves."

Until the food arrived, they talked, and she listened with rapt attention, laughing and making just as many witty comments as Merlin himself did. The Knights took to her extraordinarily quickly, and open and friendly, they talked as though they were the oldest of friends. They certainly did not hold any part of their vibrant, unique personalities back.

When the food arrived, Hunith had to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. The topic had moved to how they first reacted to learning of Merlin's magic, and she was touched and moved by what they had to say about her son.

The servants moved about efficiently and quickly, naturally nervous under the watchful and polite silence of the King, his soon-to-be Queen (there were many bets amongst them on when exactly he was going to ask the gentle-mannered Gwen to marry him), and his most trusted Knights. But, when they noticed that the newly instated Court Sorcerer was also among those they served, their nervousness and awkwardness increased tenfold.

Hunith watched as the Knights, Arthur, and even Gwen grew increasingly frustrated—she saw it in their hard eyes and tense jaws—by the fearful eyes and the way they moved and skirted about Merlin. Merlin, on the other hand, did not look bothered, though he did look like he felt the need to get up and help, but Hunith knew better. She saw how much it hurt him.

One boy, visibly shaking, reached around Merlin to place a dish full of fruit in the last spot unoccupied by any plates, and it slipped from his hands, nearly crashing onto Merlin. Merlin's eyes flashed gold, and the young boy couldn't help but yelp as the dish gently placed itself on the table, not even dropping a single berry. Merlin's eyes did not even have the chance to fade back into their odd blue color because as the servant flinched away, he tripped over his own feet and would have gone plummeting to the floor had not Merlin used magic once again.

The servants watching couldn't contain gasps at the sight. They had worked alongside Merlin for a long, long time, but the man before them was someone new and unknown. A sorcerer.

Once back on his feet, Merlin smiled at the boy, and said kindly, "Careful."

The boy gaped and stuttered apologies hurriedly.

Merlin laughed. "It's alright. Don't worry about it. My clumsiness has gotten to me in enough trouble when I was serving King Arthur to be happy to catch your spill. Though, looking back, it would have been a lot more beneficial to me then if magic was free…I wouldn't have ended up in the stocks so often."

The boy's looked wary and hesitant before, but after Merlin's joke and his reference to his previous status as a servant, he cracked a grin and bowed. "Thank ye, Merlin Emrys."

Arthur released a breath and smiled at the warlock, dismissing the servants and thanking them. They left gratefully, whispering all the while.

Once they had gone, Merlin sighed. "It's almost as if they think I'm going to bite their head off."

Before Hunith could comfort him, Arthur did. "Don't worry, Merlin. You continue to surprise me with your openness and goodwill towards them. They'll warm up; they already are."

"I know, but I need to make sure I'm not pushing them away from the transition. Am I really _that _intimidating?" He asked worriedly. "Was there something in my face or…?"

"Are you serious, Merlin?" Gwaine exclaimed, piling sausage onto his plate. Percival was already shoveling down his food.

"You, along with Hunith and Gwen, looked like you were seconds away from leaping up and helping them set the table," Lancelot pointed out. "That's anything _but _intimidating."

"We knew the challenges," Arthur said. "But I can't help but feel—frustrated."

Merlin smirked. "I'll probably have to save Camelot from a massive invasion or save your life to get them all to completely warm up."

"Don't say that!" Arthur said. "You'll end up jinxing our luck. There hasn't been anything major since the Gvarath…unless you count that little incident with Godwin, and I'd rather it didn't change."

"Speaking of Godwin, I'm actually surprised that no one has targeted you or Merlin yet, actually, since you lifted the ban," Leon said thoughtfully.

"Aren't you worried for him? For them?" Gwen asked aside to Hunith, who was showing little emotion on their topic of assassination.

"Of course I am," Hunith answered, eyes not leaving her son. "But I'm always worried, and I've accepted that. Besides, who am I to stop him from using magic for awhile until things die down? I couldn't possibly. It is his purpose and his drive. That is who he is, and now, he shouldn't be afraid to hide it." She smiled wryly, adding, "And I haven't a chance to convince him to watch himself with that stubborn head of his. He'll be alright. He always is…as is Arthur."

"That's because they're all too terrified that they'll meet the wrath of Merlin Emrys," Elyan was teasing.

Merlin snorted in disbelief.

"You can be scary when you're angry," Gwen admitted, jumping into the conversation again. "Not angry as in frustrated and annoyed with Arthur. I mean, _genuinely _angry. I wouldn't have wanted to be on the receiving end of that look you gave Arthur when he told you he saw the Prophecy written about you two."

The warlock looked uncomfortable and gave Arthur an apologetic look. "Nothing good comes of those who know the future beforehand. I didn't want him to make the same mistakes I did, and if he—or I, for that matter—read it, the consequences would be severe."

Arthur nodded in fierce agreement. After hearing Merlin's story, he knew better than to meddle with the present to change the future. Any desire to touch that book again was long gone. "What did happen to that book, Merlin?"

"I studied it a bit, under Gaius's eye, of course—got a few handy spells, might I add—and I put it back in the Vaults with some serious protective spells around it. We cannot afford to lose that book."

"Good."

Suddenly staring at the plate, Merlin seemed to doze off into his own little world, deep in thought, and Hunith noticed that Merlin had not eaten so much as a single bite of food. "Merlin," she said. Her son's multifaceted blue eyes flicked from his plate to her. "Relax and eat. Or do you want me to force-feed you?"

The Knights watched with complete amazement as the ex-servant, who they could _never_ get to eat, dutifully began to eat full bites of food.

"How did you do that?" Arthur blurted.

"Do what?" Hunith asked, confused.

"Never mind," Arthur said, studying Merlin. "I want to figure it out myself."

They ate in companionable silence for awhile before Arthur spoke again. "I've been meaning to ask you, Hunith," he began curiously. "Merlin told us he was born with magic—I believe him; it's just that…how did you know? How did _you_ find out?"

Hunith was silent, and she looked at her lap for some time before a small smile began to break out on her face. When she looked up, she began, "I have never told anyone the story of Merlin's birth. Not even him."

Merlin and the rest of the group's attentions were immediately caught by the enchanting tone her voice adopted.

"Mum?" Merlin asked surprised. "You always told me I was just…moving things, and then you said there were times I set fire to your skirts and made plants grow."

"You did," Hunith said. "But that wasn't how I first learned that you were magic."

Merlin sat back, stunned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked, dear, and to be honest, as much as it is a happy memory, it is also one of the saddest I have."

"In what way?" Gwen asked softly.

Hunith smiled. "You know as well as I that babies cry when they are born, but Merlin… he came out of the womb completely silent, eyes closed."

Gwen's hand flew to her mouth to cover a gasp, and everyone's eyes shot to Merlin, who was staring wide-eyed at his mother.

"It's almost humorous to think about it now, seeing as he won't ever stop talking," Hunith teased weakly. The Knights chuckled just as weakly. "But then, it was anything but. The midwife had never seen a newborn that did not cry, that did not open its eyes…If he wasn't breathing, you would have thought him dead. After a few hours, his state did not change; she and I both feared that he wasn't going to survive.

"It was more painful than the day that Balinor left to go into hiding," Hunith said. "The midwife's apologizes and sympathies fell on deaf ears; they just washed over my head. I stared at him in my arms, the son he left me, the only child I knew that I would ever have, and i—it was an out-of-body feeling, almost. I felt detached and lost because I was fighting against logic, fighting against the reality, fighting to not give up on him but also trying not to cling to too much hope.

"I do remember the midwife telling me that it was useless to name him—not that I had thought of the right name yet anyway—and that's when I just wanted to be alone and her gone. I pulled him to my chest and thanked her to make her leave.

"Soon after she did, I began to walk. I just walked, my eyes always on him, and I prayed—to every god and spirit that I knew or heard of—that I would have the chance to name him…have the chance to raise him, know him, see him grow." Hunith choked and paused briefly, clearing her throat.

"I don't know where I was going; I don't know what I was looking for, but I suddenly broke away from the little world I was in and found myself in a wide field. It was beautiful. The fireflies were still out, and the stars fanned above me in a giant arc. There, I finally stopped, dropped to my knees, and began to cry.

"I looked at him, and then at the stars. They mere expanse of the sky made me feel so insignificant and small, and I remember feeling…angry, almost. Angry that the Fates had decided this for him without giving him a chance to prove himself…

"It was then that I spotted a bird flying gracefully overhead. I thought it was an owl, but it was…sleeker, you could say, and it moved differently. When I squinted, I saw that it wasn't an owl, but a hawk.

"It was strange. Hawks don't hunt at night, and yet, there it was. I watched it fly; it was beautiful, powerful, strong, and proud. All hawks are. But then there was something so inspirational and special about this hawk… in its strangeness, its loneliness, and its freedom to defy all rules and definitions of its kind. I remember wondering what caused it to fly that night and found myself imagining that it was flying simply for the joy of flight, with no other reason than to soar and dream.

"I remembered my father, who traveled across many lands as a bard, telling me that hawks represented messengers and protectors to ancient peoples. They had the gift of keen eyesight, and they saw what others could not often see—both inside the body and out. In this way, the hawk is the symbol of awareness, truth, and clarity. He told me that they believed that when a hawk appeared to you, it was a sign that you were opening your eyes for the first time to your true destiny, and they thought that the hawk could teach you how fly nearly as high as they, but also remain modest enough to stay tied to the ground.

"Once the hawk passed over us, my son stirred in my arms, moving for the first time. My heart pounded with surprise, and when I quickly and hopefully looked down at him, his eyes opened…pure gold.

"His magic touched me. I could never forget its warmth as it filled me and everything around me. It surged through the very air, and it danced like the fireflies. It was really a glorious feeling—and made all the better because I knew that he would live.

"Before I could so much as reach to wipe away the first tear of happiness, the magic faded from his eyes, leaving them blue, and he looked up at me before beginning to finally cry. I had never been so happy to hear a baby cry, and that was when I fully realized what I had seen. He had been only been born with magic, he _was _magic.

"Was I afraid? No. He was alive, and that was all that mattered to me at the moment. Did I think that life was going to be challenging? No. Did I suspect that he would grow up feeling different and alone? No. Did I think that he and I would both live in fear for most of our lives? No. Did I realize that he was going to have to lie and hide who he truly was day in and day out? No. Did I realize what part he would come to play? No. Did I foresee him becoming so powerful? No. Did I know what I was going to do when those answers became 'yes's? No. I simply hugged him for all I was worth, and I thanked the gods… and went home.

"As I walked home, I decided to name him after that strange hawk—the one that flew at night just because it wanted to feel free—and it wasn't until many years later that I realized just how fitting the name was."

When she finished, she found herself surrounded by awed, tear-stained faces. They seemed to move as one towards Merlin, who whispered, "I'm sorry, Mum."

"Whatever for?" Hunith asked in surprise.

"For—scaring you like that."

"Merlin, hon," Hunith said gently and lovingly. "It was meant to happen, and I was ignorant to the higher plan. Destiny was toying with you even then, and you lived. Isn't that what matters?"

He reached for her hand and squeezed it, and you could see their eyes conveying how much they loved each other.

"After nearly losing him like that," Gwen began slowly, "or rather, _thinking_ you were going to lose him, how did you manage to…let him go? Come here?"

Hunith looked around the group—no, the family—and finally rested her eyes on Merlin, her young hawk…

"It was time for him to soar."

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><p>AN: I hope that that was an acceptable, unique, and refreshing way of seeing Merlin's magic-from-birth, and I hope you all liked how I wrote how Hunith chose the name Merlin. :) All symbolism I found for the hawk was found via Google. :D<p>

Next chappie will have two humorous (or as humorous as I can make them) stories from Merlin's past: one told by Hunith and the other by Merlin. I look forward to them. One was inspired by ForIHaveOvercomeTheWorld (Thank you again!) and 1x10 (this will include Will), and the other I thought of when I was swimming (this one will probably not include Will). I was streamline kicking on my back and began snickering to myself, which was probably really strange to those who heard me. I find it funny because it's going to connect to something said in SMN, but I can't promise anything so funny that you'll start slapping your knees and crying. :P As always, I'll do my best.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry! I don't like responding to reviewers on my fics, but seeing as I cannot pm and seeing as it'll drive me nuts if I don't respond... this's a must:

_T_o Kunal (if you are still reading): LOL. Yes, the ending sentence was very trite...and corny and cheesy and horribly cliche, but it was wide open, and I couldn't resist. :P I have to say (sorry if I sound defensive), but Hunith was not praying for Merlin to cry; she was praying for him to live. The crying was just to signify that he was alive. Also, I considered writing 'Mother' each time when Merlin spoke, but it felt very strange to me. Too formal. I wanted to draw something different from the Merlin-Hunith relationship, change it up a bit, so I used 'Mum' as well. 'Hon' was a bit of a slip-up...though Hunith calls Merlin 'sweetheart' at one point in 1x10, doesn't she? Or am I horribly mistaken? :P And I thank you for your other comment on my "psychological attempts" (for lack of better term). I needed that. I agree that there have been some bumpy bits because of that (the one you pointed out is the most obvious one that I noticed), and I think my organization has just as much to do with it. I'll work to smooth things out in my future stories. Can't say that I succeeded in this bit. ;)

To a fan: Thank you for stickin' with me for so long! :D And thank you for the review.

_Disclaimer: IDOM_

AN: This is LONG. Wow. It's definitely not my best work, and the pacing is just all over the place, but that's because I tried something a little different. I try for a bit of Arthur-sided bromance at the beginning (warning: not the best), the 2 tales are told in flashbacks, and there are some interruptions from the main crew in between. In all honesty, they really aren't that funny—they're actually rather ridiculous—but I hope they tickle at least a little bit because I tried my best to amuse.

There are probably HUGE mistakes here. For one, I don't know the region surrounding Ealdor at all. It's all very vague. Also, I mention baby teeth. I don't know about other kids, but I didn't lose my last baby tooth until I was a sophomore in high school (weird, right?), so if Merlin (at age eight) seems to old to lose teeth, that's my ignorance. Speaking of which, if Merlin's age in that first story seems off, let me know. I can't judge kids too well. Then, of course, I kept catching myself making horrible spelling and grammar mistakes, so I probably missed a ton.

Enjoy.

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><p><em>It is simply amazing, <em>Arthur repeated to himself for what seemed like the hundredth time.

He wished he had the power to simply pause time—just for a moment—so that he could have to chance to let that story, the story of Hunith's son and his namesake, sink in, so that he could have the chance to think it over. It had inspired so many reactions out of him, he didn't know which to grab on to and hold.

The pain in Hunith's voice was so fresh as she spoke, and as he imagined the memory cutting into her, he saw the very same knife turning on him and twisting in his heart. Her words invoked a fear in him. What would have happened if Merlin had indeed died that day? If Destiny suddenly decided that he wasn't the one? Where would _he _be? Where would Camelot be? It scared him to think of what might have been if Merlin had never stumbled into his life. In fact, it was nearly _unthinkable_. Arthur couldn't imagine a life without the loyal young man, and he came to the realization that alongside Gwen, Merlin was the most important thing in his life. If he were to die, Arthur didn't know _what_ he'd do.

Then there was the warlock's connection to the hawk. That was just as inspirational as it was strange. It seemed as though that hawk was more than just a mere coincidence and a sign. No, it was a reflection of what Merlin would be and a projection of who he was. The only thing that Merlin and the hawk didn't share was grace in movement…though, if Arthur was truthful, there was something graceful about the way Merlin held himself whilst performing magic, so even there—they were one in the same.

_And just when I thought his story couldn't get any more incredible, _Arthur joked to himself, shaking his head. After the revelation of Merlin's magic, after the tales of all that he had been through as his servant, it was hard to imagine anything touching him like that—so powerfully—again. Of course, he was wrong.

So you can imagine that Arthur was grateful when, after that particular story from Hunith, the atmosphere lightened considerably as the stories themselves became lighter and more cheerful.

As she shared stories of Merlin's youth, they found themselves sharing ones of their own. It seemed as though everyone had had a face as bright as a tomato at one point or another, but it never lasted long because the one embarrassed ended up laughing just as hard as everyone else.

But, of course, Merlin just seemed to have more of those stories than any of them. And they all were strange, to say the least.

Hunith told them about all the times as a baby he would try to pull spoons and cooking utensils away with magic as she cooked and how sometimes she would have to struggle to keep guests from noticing him summoning and levitating miscellaneous items around the house. She told them about the fright she had the first time she saw him playing around with fire dancing on his palm and about the time she saw him unintentionally heal a bird's wing (Merlin himself had the most trouble believing that particular story as he had only _just_ begun to finally understand healing magic). She told them about the time she once found him perched on the boughs of the old tree outside their village, making icicles form from the slow, dripping water falling from the branches and halting the snowfall around him…and then she described following horror as he laughed in delight upon seeing her and slipped into the rushing and freezing cold waters of the stream beneath its branches.

She told them about his blissful smile as he showed her every new trick he taught himself and then his unhappy frown, resigned sigh, and confused eyes as she reminded him to be careful—sometimes a bit more forcefully than she intended. After he had done wrong or when she was upset, she told them about how he would try to apologize by creating beautiful things for her. Every time was different because he could never recreate them intentionally. Once, it was a ball of multicolored flames; another, a flower made of light and water, and then a small stone shined to resemble a mirror.

She told them about his close-calls, and though she shuddered with the remnants of fear, she found herself grinning all the while.

She spun tales of the mischievous, sunny, smiling, and bright-eyed boy, who never stood still, who never stopped chatting, who always saw things in a different light, also who was always searching for answers to an eternal supply of questions.

It was only natural that even then, alongside his cheekiness and strong-willed nature, these questions and insatiable curiosity only landed Merlin into some deep trouble.

And there was one such question—or rather, _questions_—that had, at first, been utterly harmless, but had led to a hell of an amusing story.

~…~

There was a clamor of horses snorting and stomping and men calling from the sides of the dusty road, but Hunith was so engrossed in her task that she didn't hear or mind the noise. Ignoring the sting from the coarse soap, she scrubbed at the floor of their hut dutifully, only pausing to brush some untamable locks from her eyes and to check on Merlin every once in awhile, but she hadn't done so for a few minutes now. She had been scrubbing at the same spot as her mind flew somewhere far away and as an unfocused distance appeared in her eyes.

While daydreaming, she didn't notice her little blue-eyed boy, who had been playing silently at the squat old table, immediately and clumsily scramble up to the window to see what was going on.

His sharp and energized exclamation of "Mother!" snapped Hunith from her reverie, and her eyes shot to Merlin. He was bouncing on the tips of his toes—he was only just tall enough to see outside—and his head of unmanageable, tousled raven hair was tilted in fascination. "I think they're traders!" he cried from the window, turning briefly to her, his elfin features alight with his impish grin, which had a gap or two from lost baby teeth.

As always, his smile warmed her, and it made her forget her worries and adopt a smile of her own. She made a small noise of discomfort as she raised herself from the hard floor and as she pushed the scratchy sleeves of her dress further away from her soapy hands and forearms.

Over the shaggy head of her son, she peeked out the window and saw a small group of foreigners, judging by their clothing, chatting with a few of the men of Ealdor. Their horses were still saddled—they obviously had no intention of staying long—and they tossed their heads and jostled their harnesses restlessly. Up the road, she spied a larger group of caravans, livestock, dogs, and men, women, and children alike.

"They're just passing through," Hunith mused to Merlin. "There isn't much for them here." She studied the men for a moment longer, watching the men barter a little before the traders headed on. "I assume they're heading south—to Camelot."

Instantly, Hunith almost regretted mentioning the nearby kingdom. Despite her reluctance to think about the city and what future its influence might bring, she couldn't help but smile at the look on her son's face. Merlin's multifaceted blue eyes widened to the size of saucers, glazing with childish and obsessive dreams, and he was so excited by the name that he nearly fell. He only managed to keep his balance by clinging to the window sill. "Camelot!" he chirped in awe, eyeing the traders with a new look. It was an intelligent look, a look that an eight-year-old child had no business having, a look of both analytical and creative intuition and curiosity.

Hunith ruffled his hair, which usually would have had him squirming away from her, and muttered, "Yes, Camelot."

"One day, I'll go there," Merlin declared determinately, his strange eyes, which looked too old for his age, locked on the traders. "Just like them."

There was a fierce conviction in his voice made Hunith shiver with a mixture of fear and nervousness. She knew that, ever since she told him about her first visit to Camelot to visit her half-brother Gaius, her son had nursed dreams of visiting the magnificent citadel. It scared her to think that he was so fascinated with the anti-magic land, and it scared her to think what would happen if he ever _did_ follow his dreams to its high, sturdy walls.

She had tried to explain to him why he couldn't go there without degrading his self-worth—she didn't want him to think that having magic was a fault; she wanted him to be proud of who and what he was—but when she made the excuse that Uther was a ruthless, unkind king, her little son countered with a challenging gleam in his eye, "Is he worse than Cenred? Does he try to care?"

She had frozen. His question was asked innocently, but it was also asked _rhetorically._ It unnerved her. It proved that Merlin knew, or had at least observed and guessed, exactly how cruel their king was and how bad off those living under his rule were. And it was true. Uther might be ruthless in the persecution of magic, but he was trying to keep his people happy and safe. What had Cenred done? He stole from the people, destroyed the land with war and famine, and had thrown a majority of his subjects into poverty. He cared for no one but himself, and up in his palace at the heart of his kingdom, he stuffed himself and spoiled himself lavishly with riches while Uther…he suffered and _tried_.

Yet, he still would kill her son without as much as a thought.

It caused her a dilemma. Though magic was not punishable by death in Cendred's kingdom, it was extremely frowned upon and feared, and being so near Camelot, Hunith could hardly allow Merlin to use his magic in front of an audience. Uther was well known to terminate magic in lands beyond his own. But no matter how much she tried to keep his secret safe, and no matter how much he began to understand the need for secrecy, they both could not deny that his magic was not only a part of him: it _was _him, and he needed to learn. One day, she suspected that he would need guidance that she could not give. He would need to find a true purpose for his gifts because Hunith knew, deep in her heart of hearts, that this life was not meant for Merlin.

There was something at work that she couldn't possibly hope to stand against, but she fought anyway, pushing aside all of those instinctual thoughts of the future from her mind. For the moment, all she could do was hope that he grew out of his dreams to visit the city but at the same time hope that he didn't grow up too fast.

"Oh, Mum, look!" Merlin laughed musically. Absolutely thrilled, he pointed to a man whose profile had just been revealed as one of the townsfolk moved out of the way. It was obvious as to what Merlin was referring to. The wide-nosed foreigner had a strange—_completely_ and _utterly _bizarre beard. It was thick, dark, glossy, and _long_ (it hung to his sternum) and it was severely trimmed and shaped into a spearhead-like style, ending with a perfect, luscious inward curl.

In all truth, the man looked utterly ridiculous with the thing.

Fighting hysterical giggles, Hunith gently took Merlin's arm and said, "You shouldn't point, Merlin. It's rude."

Merlin lowered the arm obediently and grinned mischievously at her. "You want to laugh," he pointed out. "It's funny, isn't it? Admit it."

The mother bit her lip and said reasonably, "I admit it, but that doesn't mean that we should laugh. It could be a part of their custom."

He acknowledged her admonishment with a guilty smile, but he pouted cleverly, "But none of the others have that—erm—_beard-style_. The man's just _asking_ to be laughed at!"

Hunith took another peek at the man, her chest beginning to shake with silent mirth, and suddenly, the two of them snorted simultaneously, and the loud laughter erupted through the dam of self-control like an angry flooding river.

When the giggles finally subsided, Merlin wiped his eyes with his knuckles, and he suddenly asked enthusiastically, "Why would he grow it like that?"

She wiped her hands and bent over to pick up the bucket of soapy water. "I can't hope to understand why men do anything, Merlin," Hunith joked, rolling her eyes.

Merlin grew uncharacteristically silent. She knew that this silence only occurred when he was thinking over something laboriously. Sure enough, a furrow of concentration appeared between his eyebrows, and he watched the men again with a new interest. "Matthew has a beard," he stated randomly.

Slightly concerned, Hunith adopted a patient look, said she said slowly, "Yes. He does."

"But then Will's father doesn't."

"No," she agreed confusedly.

He hummed to himself, tapping his long fingers on the windowsill and falling onto a stool at the base of the window. "How do beards _grow?_" Merlin suddenly blurted. "I mean, why does the hair only stay on the chin and lip and grow downward? Why doesn't it grow and _spread_ across the neck and shoulders instead? You know, hair does the same in a way, doesn't it?" He hardly paused in his rambling as he reached to his head and fingered at the fluffy mop of raven locks. "It grows up from the head and then falls down, and it _recedes_ sometimes when you're old, but it _never_ spreads past the hairline…. It's almost as though it's walled off…but by what?"

It was an incredibly passionate rant. Only _Merlin_ would think to question something as normal as a _beard_ and make it seem odd and complex.

Hunith stared at her straight-faced, serious son before beginning to laugh again, and she was unable to stop. Merlin jolted in surprise at the volume and abruptness of his mother's laughter, causing the rickety stool he was on to topple and spill him to the floor. She knew he wasn't injured when he just sighed exasperatedly at his clumsiness, and that made her laugh even harder.

"I'm fine," Merlin muttered sarcastically, picking his wiry body up from the floor with no less grace than his plummet from the stool. "Don't worry about me."

"Merlin, dear," Hunith said, giggles still escaping. With a broad grin on her face, she chided, "We both know that there has been worse."

He grinned sheepishly, recalling some of his more unfortunate falls, but it faded quickly in annoyance. "This stupid balance disability seems to be getting _worse_," he muttered under his breath.

"I think it's endearing," Hunith said, drawing her son into a hug and kissing his head.

Of course, being a big, independent eight-year old, Merlin enjoyed the warmth of her hug for a moment before he began to protest halfheartedly. To no avail, obviously, as Hunith kept her embrace tight and allowed for no escape.

"Tell me. Why the sudden obsession with beards?" Hunith asked, a smile in her voice.

Merlin scowled. She always liked it when he scowled—it didn't fit his face, and it amused her to see her cheerful boy try to remain angry or annoyed at someone or some injustice for long. It was never real—his anger—and she hoped it remained that way. "Not an obsession," he denied vehemently.

She chuckled. "No, of course not. Your uncle Gaius would certainly be proud. He always had a fascination with the human body, but I don't think he ever wondered about _beards._"

"I was just wondering why men _do_ grow beards; that's all," Merlin said, a bit defensive.

Amused, Hunith asked, "Do you not want to grow a beard when you're older? Is that why you ask?"

"No! No, I mean, I actually think I do," he responded enthusiastically. "When I'm old…very old. It'll be white then, and it'll look like a soft blanket of snow across my chest."

Hunith raised her eyebrow. Most conversations she had with Merlin were strange (to bystanders, witnesses, or participants of those conversations, it was beyond strange), but this was the strangest by far. She didn't know how to comment to Merlin's…idea, and she knew it was probably just a passing fancy of a child that would be forgotten within the next day. Of course, she wouldn't take Merlin's stubbornness into account. So instead of commenting, she asked him, "Well, why don't _you_ tell me why men decide to wear beards?"

As he formulated his thoughts, Merlin pursed his lips, eyes twinkling. "You know," he began slowly, "I don't know about others, but for me—paired with a staff and cloak—I would _look_ like a wizard. One that people would look up to…one day." He smiled. "And one that people can still laugh with…or at."

Whatever answer she had been expecting, she had not expected that. Her eyes prickled, losing their mirth, and she squeezed her son again. "What does it matter what a warlock looks like," she said as she stroked his hair, "when it is his heart and actions that are judged for merit?"

Merlin gazed at her solemnly with his deep eyes that seemed to read her mind, listening to the wisdom. Unbeknownst to her, he was adopting it as another code to live by, but she _could_ tell he took those words well and beyond the heart.

"That's if I can ever use it, of course," Merlin stated logically. "Or find out how to use it _right_." He sighed. "My _magic_."

"You will," Hunith whispered in a voice portraying a strong confidence that she didn't have and hiding resigned hopelessness. "One day."

He rolled his eyes and groaned impatiently. "I'll have my beard by then!" Merlin joked, his smile not reaching his eyes.

Hunith barked a laugh and poked his stomach, her own stomach squirming a little at the reminder of how many directions her mind was being pulled when it concerned Merlin's future. Even so, she exclaimed truthfully, "I certainly hope not!"

Merlin swatted at her hand playfully but didn't respond, and his eyes swung back to the window restlessly.

She patted him on the back, understanding. "Go on, then, dear. Go find Will. Perhaps he'll be able to tell you more about beards than I." This caused Merlin to chuckle in embarrassment and shake his head. "Just don't wander far, and don't bother or go near the traders. They'll be gone soon."

Merlin brightened and grinned widely and lopsidedly, and as he scampered out, he cried a cheery _good-bye_ over his shoulder.

Hunith chortled to herself and prepared her laundry to take to the stream. As she walked out of the cottage, basket in hand, she froze and cursed herself. A few of the traders, who were arguing with Matthew on the price of a goat, gave her a strange look, but she ignored them.

How could she have forgotten? Will and his father had just left that morning to visit relatives in Cendred's capital. Fleetingly, she worried about Merlin, but she could trust he wouldn't get into _too _much trouble and would find something to do to keep him busy.

Of course, she was wrong.

She washed their dirty clothes quickly and effortlessly. In no time at all, she was on the winding path back to the quiet village, which, when she returned, was no longer so quiet.

Curious to the commotion, Hunith slowed her pace. There was a small group of shouting men, all babbling nonsense. Well, one man in particular…

"I was jest min'ing me own business, ya know. Chattin' with these fellas here, and all a'sudden—" He pointed to his face. Just under his wide, fearful eyes, on the flesh of his cheek, was a small patch of dark ginger hair. (1) Hunith's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

He was interrupted by a villager named Gregory, a rather dimwitted, broad young man, who boomed excitedly, "It just started as a shadow, it did! And it began to grow! Just like that!"

_Oh _Mer_lin._

Hunith hesitated a moment longer, just to see if they would ever think that magic was the cause, and when they just continued to laugh at the pleased, smug look on the foreigner's face at the attention and supposed "talent," she decided that they would not and that she did not need to stay a moment longer. She was grateful that the group was compromised of men who had more brawn than brain.

But _she _knew the truth, and she needed to find her son.

With a sigh, Hunith stepped into the house and was surprised to see Merlin waiting for her inside. He fiddled nervously at his neckerchief, and once she entered, he instantly muttered, avoiding her eyes, "I didn't mean it to happen."

"I know," Hunith said softly. She had a lecture pre-prepared, but, she couldn't bring herself to start yelling at his foolishness. She saw how it tormented him, and in fact, she was proud of him. For the first time, he confronted her about his mistake. Usually when he used magic accidentally in public, he immaturely took off to the forest or to some lonely area for hours…to avoid his mother's stern but supportive words and her fearful eyes.

"They—they haven't guessed have they?" Merlin whispered, wincing.

Hunith shook her head. "No. We have to be thankful that there are some _very_ unobservant people in this world. No harm done," she said, placing the laundry down. "But Merlin…what in the world are we going to do with you? What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't."

"No, I think that you were thinking _too_ much," Hunith disagreed. "And about _beards_ of all things!"

Merlin blushed. "I just wanted to learn how they worked. I didn't expect _that _to happen!"

For the third time that day, Hunith began to laugh so hard tears fell down her face.

~…~

"You can't be serious!" Arthur gasped breathlessly between laughs. "I recall a certain sorcerer telling me that I should _never_ allow him to grow a beard. So much for _that_."

Merlin shot Arthur a pained look. "Mother was right. I grew out of it."

"Really?" Arthur looked doubtful. "Because your spell transformed you into your eighty-year-old-self. And Dragoon, if I recall correctly, had quite a beard…And he's _you_ about sixty years from now. Why do I have the feeling you're going to grow one anyway?"

"It was annoying!" Merlin defended himself loudly above the Knights' laughter. "It got it the way."

"Even though it was soft like snow?" Arthur asked innocently, enjoying the heat of Merlin's annoyed glare.

"You know, Arthur, I remember a certain sorcerer telling me that every mysterious old man needs a staff to—what was it you said, Merlin?—_complete _them?" Gaius added, a merciless grin on his face.

The Court Sorcerer threw Gaius a fearsome 'I'm-going-to-get-you-for-that' look as Hunith sniggered and Arthur nearly fell over off his chair.

"No wonder you like that blue cloak so much, mate," Gwaine snickered. "The three necessities to being a good-looking, respectable sorcerer right there!" he announced. "A cloak, a staff, and a _beard_!"

"I was _eight,_" Merlin groaned. "What nonsense were _you_ spouting when you were eight, Gwaine?"

"Not all of it was nonsense," Lancelot said thoughtfully. "Even then, you were rather wise, Merlin."

Arthur couldn't help but agree. It brought him back to the symbolism of the hawk. Merlin certainly saw the world through an extraordinarily different perspective.

"Wise but incredibly _odd_," Leon muttered.

"But Merlin's always been a little odd," Elyan said.

"A _little_?" Arthur scoffed.

"I _am _right here," Merlin huffed. Percival nearly choked on his sausage at his tone.

"Don't mind them," Gwen said to Merlin kindly, "You know that they're just pulling your beard."

Merlin's mouth fell open at Gwen's cunning pun, and the room exploded with hilarity. Their amusement was addicting, and before long, he was right with them.

"Well, I suppose I should be glad Will _wasn't_ there that day," Merlin confessed when the Knights' were able to breath steadily again. "He probably would have had to learn to shave prematurely."

Curiosity invoked, Arthur said, "You haven't spoken a lot about Will. Neither of you have." His gaze switched from Merlin to Hunith.

"He was—" Merlin smirked. "—an interesting friend. Rebellious to the extreme, a daredevil, always looking for trouble…well, he had no problems finding it because it usually ended up finding_ us_. Or more likely: _me_. After his father died, those traits only became worse. Well, not _worse_. I should say they _intensified_.

"He was fiercely opinionated and wasn't afraid to speak his mind. He was sometimes a little insensitive because of it, but overall, he was a loyal friend. He stuck up for me and stuck with me, too. Even 'til the end."

Merlin's eyes grew misty as he recalled how Will, after saving Arthur's life and on his deathbed, had taken the blame for the windstorm that Merlin himself had conjured.

"You don't like to talk about him," Gwen guessed kindly.

Merlin shrugged. "I was never really given a chance to, so I wouldn't know. I think I'd like to. He deserves that."

"He does," Arthur agreed. "So tell me: how did he learn of your magic, Merlin?"

"I'd actually like to hear this myself," Hunith admitted, settling herself more comfortably into her chair.

"_You _don't know?" Percival asked, stunned.

Hunith grinned sheepishly. "I think I was more concerned with scolding Merlin about keeping his secret than learning what led to it being revealed."

Merlin chuckled nervously, "Well, about that…"

His mother's eyes locked on his face, reading it intensely. "Please tell me you're joking." Merlin's idiotic grin didn't change, and she groaned, "I'm not going to like this."

"Nope, not really."

~…~

Merlin couldn't remember a winter in his fifteen years of life being this cold. Supplies were getting low, and the village was struggling to keep itself fed and warm. A one year old died the previous week. They could not continue for long.

Despite the horrors of the winter, he had never seen Ealdor so beautiful. It had finally stopped snowing early that morning, and a thick and sparkling blanket of white covered the ground. It was unmarred by human or animal touch and looked as pristine as a new, fresh linen bed-sheet. Each tree branch had a long line of icicles dangling from the dark wood and even piles of snow, outlining each tree in an angelic aura of white crystal. The adorned tree branches rose majestically into the pearly grey sky, trembling slightly in the bitter wind (2).

He shivered violently, trying to retain all the heat he could from his coarse coat. Beside him, his mother shook even more violently, despite the fact that Merlin had wrapped her in all the blankets and old shawls he could find, and she coughed pitifully, tossing and turning in bed. Murmuring soothing words, he stroked her forehead with a warm rag and attempted to fuel the little fire in the hearth with magic.

It spluttered higher, but Merlin saw that it wouldn't last them for long. They had run out of wood, and when there was no wood, there was no fire—well, no _steady _fire.

Multiple times, Merlin had considered calling up his own fire to burn without wood. But, he knew no spells, and it was more than probable he'd loose control and burn the house down. And then there was his mother he had to tend to… He, unfortunately and frustratingly, couldn't concentrate on both.

He didn't like the thought of having to leave her, but he really had no choice. Besides, he wouldn't be long, he knew. No one would be out; there'd be no one to see him. Magic was really quite wonderful when there was no one to see it and consequentially fear it…and him.

He sighed and painfully stood, shoving some too-small mittens onto his hands and shoving his still icy fingers under his armpits. At the door to the cottage, he briefly paused, staring at the hatchet that had been placed not very prudently or safely near the door.

"Nah," he said to himself. "I won't need it."

Bracing and tensing himself for the onslaught of cold from outside, Merlin pushed open the door and sauntered out into the snowy wonderland. At first, he hesitated, lungs stinging from the frigid air and nose-hairs freezing. He hated to ruin the even, perfect layer, but soon enough, he was trudging through it gleefully. It may have been cold and wet, but it was _snow_. And no matter how miserable he was sure to be in a few minutes, he couldn't help but love it all.

Unsurprisingly, it took a lot more effort to trek to the small wooded area near Ealdor, but it turned Merlin was wrong; the exhilaration at the new snowfall had not yet left him. He did not feel so cold yet—even with the cold snow melting into his boots and thick woolen socks—but the moment he stopped moving, he was certain he would be.

He paused before the small forest, eyes searching through the blinding white for a small sapling he could cut down with magic.

"Your lips are turning blue, you know," a sudden snuffling voice sounded behind him.

Merlin jumped in surprise and turned to see Will, who smirked at him, the tip of his nose pink with the cold.

"What're you doing out here?" Merlin asked.

"I would ask you the same," Will said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Getting wood," Merlin grunted, beginning to now feel the freezing cold. He shifted his weight restlessly.

Will brandished his hatchet. "Same." Suddenly he frowned at Merlin's hands, which were still hidden up his armpits. "Wait…where's yours? Didn't you bring an axe?"

"What? Why would I?" Merlin asked, completely confused. At Will's incredulous look, he realized what he had just said, and he stuttered, trying to play the idiot, "_Ooooh_…sorry. Um…I forgot it."

Will looked somewhat suspicious, but then he just laughed. "Merlin, you can be an idiot, you know that? You're lucky I'm here. C'mon then."

He started to push through the stiff branches, taking care not to bonk his head or slip on ice. Merlin sighed and followed silently.

"How's your mum?" Will asked concernedly.

"She's a little better, actually," Merlin said happily. "But not so well that I can leave her alone for long."

"Frankly, Merlin, I don't know how you have the patience to nurse her," he said with amazement. "I hope she does get better soon, for both your sakes." He surveyed the dark circles under Merlin's eyes. "It looks like you haven't had a proper sleep in goodness knows how long. I'm surprised that you haven't gotten sick yourself!"

Merlin hid a satisfied smile; his magic often protected him from sicknesses, but he shuddered with horror to think of the hell he'd be in _if _he did fall sick with his mother still bedridden. He wished he knew how to use magic to heal! Now _that _would be useful.

Suddenly, Will stopped and hacked at a suitable sized sapling. It was cut down easily, but Will looked at it with a curled lip. "This is going to take ages, and we'll only need to come back out for more within a day. If only we could fell one of _those _beauties."

Merlin followed his point and saw him staring at a small group of beautiful old oak trees. Old Man Simmons' oak trees. The trees bordered the crazy old man's property, and Merlin knew he cared for those trees just as he did his garden throughout the spring and summer months. And if you valued your head, you did not, under any circumstances, disturb his garden.

The oaks weren't huge, but they were decently sized, with trunks nearly the same circumference and area of a small wagon wheel. And they were, undoubtedly, off-limits…or they'd have to face the wrath of Old Man Simmons.

But, of course, that never stopped them.

"How d'you suppose you could fell one of those?" Merlin asked sarcastically. "By calling an ogre to help you?"

"Of course not," Will snapped. "Magic."

Merlin froze, eyes wide as panic gripped his chest, but Will did not notice. He strolled ahead to one of the wide oak trees.

After a tense moment and deep calming breaths, Merlin approached warily. "Magic?" he repeated a little hoarsely.

Will laughed and dropped the sapling he was dragging and the axe he was carrying. "No need to sound so scared, Merlin."

He had always wanted to tell Will; he trusted him, and he _hated _lying to him. Often he wondered why he held back. His mother hadn't wanted him to tell Will when they were younger because Will had never been able to think before he spoke. He could hardly hold a secret if his life depended on it. But now…things were different. Will would hardly think of doing such a thing now. His father's death matured him.

Even so, Merlin's heart faltered and then inevitably began to race. His fears and thoughts flashed through his mind so quickly that it began to trip over itself and somersault. Did Will know? Was that confirmation? Or was Will just fooling around, like usual?

Seconds later though, he found his worries were wasted as Will began to chant nonsense words softly under his breath, hand extended melodramatically.

"Erm—Will?"

Will smirked and chanted his nonsense faster and louder, a maniacal grin on his face, and he began to dance around the tree, wiggling his fingers, thrusting his hands, and prancing about like a drunken deer.

Not so mature, then.

For a moment, Merlin stood staring, but his friend looked so utterly absurd and crazy that laughter bubbled from him. Once he started laughing, he couldn't stop. He weakly leaned against another big oak and doubled over, his breath fogging in the air in front of him as he struggled to catch his breath.

Bolstered by Merlin's reaction, Will stopped his frolicking and stopped before the tree. He lowered the pitch of his voice and declared, "I am William of Ealdor, the mighty sorcerer!"

His chanting and wiggling fingers continued, his antics growing more and more obnoxious. Merlin watched his foolish friend, and a wide, diabolical grin spread across his face.

It really was just too tempting. Far too tempting. Every ingrained survival instinct screamed at him not to; everything his mother taught him prodded weakly at his subconscious, but he merely swatted them away like a bothersome fly. It was one trick. One little laugh. Was that so wrong? No, not really. Did he think about the consequences? Not in the slightest. Was his secret really worth risking for a simple prank? Yes. At the moment, he was stupid enough to believe so.

The magic almost acted of its own accord.

Will yelped at the sudden flare of fire among the branches, and he stumbled and _tumbled_ backward into the snow, staring as the fire leaped and swung around the branches like an acrobat before fizzling to nothing.

Merlin was laughing at Will's face and his fall when Will rounded on him, picking himself up from the snow. Merlin could still feel the lingering magic at his fingertips, and judging by the way Will's eyes widened…

Well, damn.

In his quest for entertainment, in his anticipation for the joke, _this _part had slipped his mind. What the _hell_ had he been thinking? The irrefutable monster of fear returned, and it overcame his mind before he could quell it. The smile slipped right from his face as surely as he would on a treacherous patch of ice.

"What was that?" Will demanded sharply.

"Wh—what are you talking about?" Merlin asked, quaking. He hoped that his weak bluff would work and the nervous stutter would appear to be because of the cold and not because of the sudden fear coursing through him.

He hated feeling such fear. It shouldn't be necessary, he knew. It wasn't right. It wasn't right that he had to hide his talents or fear who—what—he was… but this was his _friend_. And if he called him so, why was he so afraid?

"There—there was a fire…It suddenly appeared. It _moved _as if it were alive. _That _was magic!" Will exclaimed, eyes narrowing. "And I'm sure as _hell _I didn't do it."

"And you think I did?" Merlin countered, thinking up a sensible retort for once. However, it was weak, and his voice was too soft to be defensive, and of course, Will caught on.

"I saw them, Merlin! Your eyes were _glowing_."

By the determined, stubborn look on Will's face, there was nothing Merlin could do to convince him, and defeated, he lowered his eyes, waiting for the consequences of his stupid idea to stab him in the gut.

The silence was interminable to Merlin, but finally, Will broke it, "You—you're not going to deny it?"

Merlin's eyes flashed to Will's, and he did not lower them again. "No."

Will exhaled heavily. No longer met with stubborn resistance, Will's face slackened with disbelief. "You are the strangest person I have ever met, Merlin."

Merlin swallowed convulsively, amazed. "_What_? That—that's…you're not—I mean…"

Will suddenly broke into a fit of chuckles. "You really had me there, didn't you?" He beamed widely. "That was _brilliant_, Merlin! _How _long have you been able to do that?"

"_Brilliant?" _Merlin breathed."You're not scared?"

"Why would I be?"

"Oh, I don't know," Merlin shrugged sarcastically. "Perhaps you might be because magic is inadvertently evil, and all who have it are evil, and everything concerning it is _evil_."

Will blinked and started laughing again. "You? Evil? Merlin, only a _fool_ would see you as evil. Magic or no. So tell me," he said eagerly. "how long have you been able to do it? You didn't speak at all, did you? I thought sorcerers needed spells."

"Not me," Merlin mumbled modestly. "Mum tells me I was born with it."

"Is that even possible?"

"Apparently."

"…You're kidding? You've been hiding it this whole time?"

Merlin just nodded. He could hear the accusations ringing in his ears already. He lied. He spurned Will's trust. He devalued his loyalty. He couldn't be trusted. "As best as I could."

Will gave him a questioning look, and he continued, "Sometimes, it…things just _happen_. I have gotten loads better with controlling it, but I hardly know enough to keep a full reign on it. I can manipulate things with my mind and control them well enough, but then there are just things that happen…instinctually."

"What was that there?" Will pointed to the tree.

"I did that on purpose. I thought it'd be funny; I _must _be tired to think that I would get away with it," Merlin stated darkly. "Only Mother knew. Fifteen years is a long time…to tell you the truth, I was terrified out of my mind a moment ago."

He felt Will's cold hand on his shoulder, and he jumped. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm your friend. I understand why you and your mum wouldn't want anyone to know. And I understand why you didn't tell me. It stings, I admit, but I would rather have my best friend alive and secretive than….dead."

"Nice, blunt way to put it," Merlin joked weakly.

Will gave him a sympathetic look. "How can you live that way?"

"It's all I've known."

"But don't you ever wish you could…?"

"Of course!" Merlin cried, suddenly animated. "I hate hiding; I just want to live in a world where I can scream 'I have magic' and have no one _care_. I don't want to be afraid. I don't know why I have it, and I sure as hell don't know what to use it for. But I want to _learn_ it…learn how to use it _right_. To do something good with it. But there's Uther and Cenred, and about a million other people…They fear me just as much as I fear them." He barked a laugh. "It's an unlikely dream."

"If anyone can make it happen, you can, Merlin. I have no doubt."

Merlin relaxed at the confidence in Will's voice, and slowly, he began to smile. "Thank you, Will."

"No, thank _you_. _You _were the one who saved my life." Merlin winced at the memory of a cruelly laughing Samuel, standing over a bloodied Will with a fist raised. That had been about two years ago. "No ordinary rock-fall, I'm guessing?"

Merlin flushed, and Will smiled, seeing the truth in his eyes. "You're a brave one, Merlin. I'll guard your magic—your secret—with my life; I promise." He paused, studying Merlin. "You don't mind me talking to you about it?" He grinned slyly. "Perhaps messing around a bit with it?"

"No! No, of course not! It feels nice, having you know," Merlin exclaimed. "Just…not in front of my mother. She'll have a fit if she found out you knew."

"You're not going to tell her?"

"I'd rather not at all, if I can avoid it. But I will have to eventually. She's extremely protective...not that that's a bad thing, of course…" Suddenly frantic, his eyes swiveled to find the sun, which was hard to see behind the layer of gray clouds. "I have to get back to her!"

"_She_'s protective?" Will teased.

"I'll deal with the wood," Merlin said in answer.

His eyes began to swirl with gold—much to Will's fascination—but the older boy stopped him with a firm grip on his upper arm. "Wait. I have a better idea." He pointed to Old Man Simmons' oak trees again.

Merlin paled. "I—I can't."

"Sure you can! Think about it, Merlin. Sure, we'll get the old loon a bit mad, but if you fell a tree that big, we can easily come back here and have firewood for _weeks_ if we keep it to ourselves, _days _if we share with everyone."

"I try not to hurt people, Will. I try really hard—that's one of my main motivators for working on controlling it—but magic _is _dangerous. _I_'m dangerous. Look what happened to Sam!"

"There's no one around, Merlin. Just…push it away from Old Man Simmons' place. It won't hurt anyone," Will said logically. "You're worrying over nothing. And I want to see if you can do it."

He was right. Merlin couldn't deny it, and arguing wasn't keeping his mother warm… Then, of course, there was the challenge in Will's voice paired with the chance to prove himself _and _practice his magic….

"Just—just stand back, please," Merlin ordered, submitting.

"Don't have a lot of faith in your abilities, do you?"

"Not really, but here goes."

Merlin focused his magic, calling it up from wherever it sprung and flowed in his veins, and slowly, he pushed at the tree.

The tree's upper branches stirred, but its solid foundation did not so much as tremble. Merlin frowned and pushed harder and harder—the magic growing with an exhilarating intensity—at the stubborn tree until it began to make popping and crackling sounds. The oak began to tip, bending horribly, and a few birds that had landed there for shelter squawked indignantly and flew away. Finally, with one last push, the trunk snapped, and it all came crashing down.

Merlin released his hold on the magic and grinned at his success while Will whooped and punched the air victoriously, and both boys rushed to their prize.

Their victory was short-lived, however, as an old, cranky, raucous voice shouted, "You nearly flattened me, you imbeciles! Flattened like a fried toad on a concrete courtyard on a hot summer's day and run over by all them wagons and horses! When I'm done with you idiots, you'll be worse off than those toads!" A crooked old man with a slight hunchback and uneven eyes suddenly came into their vision beyond the tree's uppermost branches, and he shook his knotted walking staff into the air angrily. "You'll regret the day you were born, boys! Thinking you can _flatten _me with one of _my _oaks! BAH!"

Will and Merlin exchanged a look. Without saying a word, Merlin severed enough wood off the tree for him and Will while Will chopped some as well. Then, they did what any normal teenage boys would do when facing a senile, insane old man. They dashed, cackling their heads off.

Sure, they were going to be in _major_ trouble sooner or later…once Hunith learned the truth, but at the moment, it was just hilarious.

When they broke free of the forest, they slowed, panting.

"Nice one, Merlin," Will complimented. He shook his head. "Fried toads? Where _did _that come from?"

"I thought it was a rather ingenious metaphor."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Old Man Simmons…ingenious? You're mad, Merlin!"

"Takes one madman to know another."

Will snorted. "Your magic has obviously addled with your brain," he teased.

Merlin rolled his eyes, beaming.

"You should know, Merlin… I still have questions for you."

"I'll answer them."

"I know; I just wanted to say—that was incredible, what you did back there."

Merlin sighed. "There's no point if I can't use it for _something_ more. And there's no point to even _say _what I am and what I can do when I'm hated for simply being me"

Will was silent, and suddenly he chuckled, "You can say it to me."

A few simple words. He had never said them to another soul, and when he said them on that frigid day—the day that he stupidly revealed his secret for the first time—it had felt like a breath of fresh air after spending an entire day in the stables. Saying them together for the first time wasn't going to satisfy him or free him entirely, but it loosened the lock.

"I'm a warlock. I have magic."

~…~

Watching Hunith throughout Merlin's story had been nearly as entertaining as the story itself. She alternated between aggravation, anger, and amusement at random intervals. She seemed to accept the fact that there was really nothing she could do about it now, but she also looked about ready to give him a tongue-lashing.

"You really are an idiot, aren't you, Merlin?" Arthur asked when he was done. "I'm really doubting my decision to make you Court Sorcerer."

"Yes, he is," Hunith agreed.

"Glad to see whose side you're on, Mother."

* * *

><p>AN: (1) Mentioned very, very briefly in SMN<p>

(2) All snow scenes/details a small sentimental tribute to my past life in Illinois. :)

Not too fond of that Will reveal, but I could always write another one if I ever had a fancy to. :P As always, thank you so very much for reading, and thanks for attempting to swallow my "humor."

This fic is done with, and I'm unsure when another will be up. I'm going home for the holidays, :D and I may not get around to writing anytime soon, so happy holidays to you all, and enjoy that season finale. (LOOKS AMAZING, doesn't it?)

With love,

Oz


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